The Apprentice and the Rabbit Chaser
by Zedyre
Summary: [HIATUS] Teenage Ralof/Hadvar Romance. .:. "They knew each other once. Really knew. The type of connection a man would only share with his loveliest of lovers. And that's just what they were." .:. Will be rated M for eventual explicit sexual content.
1. The Apprentice and the Rabbit Chaser

They knew each other once.

_Really_ knew. The type of connection a man would only share with his loveliest of lovers.

And that's just what they were.

They met in Riverwood in their younger years - just sixteen, the both of them. Hadvar was so eager to learn whatever his uncle could teach him - it turned out to be very little, considering he spent all his time with that blond boy with those pretty blue hues. Curious eyes peered over the grindstone to watch as a dirty (even compared to the wannabe blacksmith) and very obviously _strong_ youth chased lightheartedly after a rabbit. He was weighted down with a makeshift wooden shield in his hand and an iron dagger at his waist.

"Where are you going, boy?" his uncle called after his nephew as the young man bounced on the gravel, sunlight hot on his face - marked with brushes of black from working the forge - after so long of being sheltered from it underneath the roof. He ran at a moderate speed as to not seem too eager, too desperate, toward the unknown stranger. Hadvar never answered his uncle, not even when he'd ask in the months follow - during the times he'd race out of the house at any given moment to meet up with his little rabbit chaser.

"What are you doing out here?" Hadvar asked casually upon approaching the grinning youth who now held the small animal in his arms. They were both covered in a thin layer of sweat. The other boy looked up from his gaze on the rabbit to smile cheerfully at the stranger. '_Stranger_' because Hadvar had, after all, just arrived to Riverwood to stay with his uncle.

"Oh... My sister's rabbit got loose. Had to catch the damn thing."

"Did you make that yourself?" Hadvar asked, then, his eyes locked on the carved shield. He wanted to be a blacksmith, after all; he couldn't suppress his interest in weapons and armor.

"Oh... Aye," the other nodded and followed his gaze. After a moment, and after his smile had mostly disappeared, the blond spoke again. "You the blacksmith's kin? Been hearin' about a boy coming to the village to stay with him."

Hadvar nodded. "That, I am. He's my uncle."

"Where are you from, then?"

"My mother and father met here. They moved to Solitude once they collected enough coin. I decided to come back to stay with my uncle... to learn his trade."

"You traveled the roads by yourself?"

It was then that the apprentice saw the blue of the stranger's eyes, which went wide with the question, obviously surprised at the idea. But before Hadvar could answer, he heard his name loud on his impatient uncle's lips. Reluctantly, he backed away from his new-found friend and headed back over the bridge, hearing heavy footsteps following behind him.

"They hired a merchant to look after me, and gave me a horse to ride, too, but he let me pick the trails from a map. We stayed in many inns along the way and never traveled at night."

"Aye. I've only been to Helgen. Whiterun once or twice. Only to steal Honningbrew Mead from the meadery." Hadvar heard a laugh of pride from the blond, and it made him smile. _He'd_ never been that daring. The blacksmith's nephew himself had only been to Solitude and Riverwood, and the places in between for only a short time. He'd never tell this boy that he'd been so nervous the entire way, having rarely set foot outside the city he was raised in, and risk losing his new friend's attention.

"I'd better get back to it, then," Hadvar nodded once he'd made it to the steps of his uncle's porch. Alvor made himself busy, pounding away at a sword after giving his fleeting nephew a bit of a glare. The other boy nodded back and he watched as he disappeared around the corner of the general store with that little rabbit still in his hands. They'd see each other again, Hadvar was sure - he just wondered_when_.

"Don't abandon your station again, boy."

"Sorry, Uncle."

"It's-... quite alright." Any hostility seemed to flee from him. "At least you're making friends. Here, sharpen this sword. Watch your fingers."

Hadvar began his task, and in every gleam of the metal, he thought of those piercing blue eyes.


	2. Sharp Blades and the Boys Who Need Them

"Chasing rabbits again?" Hadvar mused in a rather loud voice. After Alvor had dismissed him, the curious young man followed where the blond boy had disappeared to, finding him in front of his home and looking at whatever was catching his eye on the ground. The apprentice lingered just outside the fence that separated them.

"No. Chickens now," the other boy, too, smiled, but didn't look up.

"Oh? Oh... I saw one by the inn, if that's-"

"I'm not serious." The blond laughed, finally looking up. "Dropped my dagger somewhere. Is everyone from Solitude a gullible milk drinker?"

Hadvar's brows dipped at the insult. Was it playful? There was still a smile on his face - so surely he must not've meant any harm by it. Still, the blacksmith's nephew felt slighted. "I'm not gullible. And I'm _not_ a milk drinker. Is everyone from Riverwood a wannabe warrior?"

Still, that smile remained. It even grew.

No words were spoken for the next few moments. The smiling blond teenager simply looked all over the ground, stepping carefully in the medium-length grass. Hadvar's insult lingered in the air.

"What were you doing with it?" he asked finally.

"Uh-..." was started with a laugh. Ralof eventually admitted, "Practicing my arm. ...But I'm not a wannabe warrior. It's for protection."

"Protection?" he quirked a brow.

"There's wolves around Riverwood."

"There's wolves around _Skyrim_," Hadvar countered.

"Have you ever been attacked?" he asked so suddenly softly, so grimly, that Hadvar was filled with a misplaced dread. They stared at each other, brown eyes wide as they gazed, stunned, into blue ones.

He shook his head, whispering, "No." He and the merchant had outrun or hid from the beasts the few times they heard intimidating howls. "Have you?"

"Once. Just over the bridge. Got me out of nowhere, the pack of them. Almost lost my arm."

"Is that how you got that scar?" Hadvar's eyes directed down to his dirty neck, a white, raised line coming up from his tunic between his collarbones. He wondered how far the scar went down, and suddenly a wave of nervousness washed over him, his eyes flicking right back up to his face as if he'd violated him with only his eyes.

"No."

Hadvar swallowed. How many more scars did he have? How did he get them? He wanted to know. He wanted to ask, but he wouldn't. A long few moments passed before he spoke again, thinking over topics in his mind to change the subject.

"I could make you a new dagger. Steel, if you'd like. I'd sharpen it, too."

He saw that smile again and felt relieved. But suddenly he was looking in the grass for his old blade once more. "I don't have any septims to give you."

"That's alright. I'll work you for it." Hadvar gnawed at the inside of his lip, the taste in his mouth musky and sour from breathing in the forge smoke. He wanted to grin at his spontaneous idea - if the boy hadn't said anything, he surely would've given it to him for free.

"What'll you have me do? I'm not much of a smith."

"That's alright. I'm sure you're good at something," Hadvar assured almost _sweetly_.

"Well... Alright. Go make the blade. I'll see how good it is, then I'll decide."

Hadvar ran off merrily with plans to make the best dagger in his entire career.

* * *

It certainly wasn't the best in _Skyrim_, but it was the greatest blade _he'd_ ever created. The closer he got to that other boy, though, he began doubting it. Twice he stopped in his tracks with the intention to turn back and try again, but he knew he couldn't do better. His heart raced in his chest as he presented it to the still-unnamed stranger, holding it out like it was a small child for him to take.

Hadvar's eyes met those pretty blue ones and he watched as the blade was looked over, surveyed, studied. His pulse twitched so fast in his neck he was sure it could be seen.

"It's beautiful," the blond marveled.

Hadvar let out a soft noise, then, of which he immediately became embarrassed. It was a mix of relief and affection - toward this boy, of all people.

"Is it?"

"Yes. Best blade I've ever had. Well... _Can_ I have it?"

"Sure. It's yours. You owe me a favor, though. I haven't decided what it'll be."

The other boy nodded, obviously preoccupied with a loving gaze at his new weapon. Hadvar jumped at the opportunity to stare - _really_stare - at his friend's face. There were more scars hidden underneath all that dirt, and the more he looked, the more he found. One on the bridge of his nose, almost perfectly straight across. One a little off-centered on his lower lip as if it'd split and left the mark. Another on his eyebrow, another on his chin (so prominent, in fact, that Hadvar was surprised he hadn't noticed it earlier), two on the right cheek and at least one other on the left. He simply stood there, looking, gazing, admiring until he was sure even the dagger wouldn't serve as a distraction much longer. A few moments later they said their goodbyes and wandered off separate ways, each excited about what the other had given (or _would give_) them. Hadvar trailed off down the path to his uncle's house and tried to imagine how that boy would look if he was clean.


	3. River Talk and Stolen Daggers

It'd been a lucky day for Hadvar.

He'd met a new friend - given, meeting him was inevitable, considering their village was so small - and made a good blade. On top of that, though, he'd impressed someone with it. Those two things just happened to overlap, but he paid no mind.

The gods must've been smiling upon him today, because as he made his way for the river in hopes to clean all those black marks off his skin and out of his hair, he realized he wasn't the only one with the intention to get clean.

_There_ was the blond boy, fingers combing back his golden hair, darker from wetness and somehow lighter from cleanness. His skin shone brightly as the droplets of water that had collected on him reflected light into Hadvar's eyes. He had his back turned to him and he couldn't see much below his waist. He traced every muscle and the scars that lined them with his brown eyes.

"Hey,_ you_," Hadvar heard, then, in that stranger's voice, tone loud as if he knew he was breaking him from his concentration.

The apprentice immediately looked up to his face and realized he'd turned around and could, now, _see_ him. See him staring. Goggling._Violating_ is what it felt like to an ashamed Hadvar. But this blond boy didn't seem to mind, or even _notice_.

"What, ain't you ever seen another boy before?" he asked with a lighthearted humor. "We're both Nords; it's alright. Unless you got somethin' that I ain't got?"

Hadvar shook his head, a nervous smile on his face. "No."

He began shedding his own clothes then - a bit too eagerly if he had any opinion on it. On the bright side, the other boy had passed Hadvar's staring off as a simple nervousness or insecurity instead of admiration. Regretfully, however, he began actually _feeling_ that. As he stepped further into the river, Hadvar compared what muscle he had to that of the boy who seemed to be stocked up with it. He was shorter, too; given, it wasn't by very much, but the two or three inches felt like miles.

Here he was, waist-deep in a flowing river in nothing but his short undergarments, standing across from a boy who wore something similar. The same boy who was making Hadvar fill up with a mix of things - insecurity, jealousy, affection and something else. Something else that made him want to reach out and touch that stocky build. Put his hands all over it, just to see what it felt like. He swallowed hard and looked down as he began wiping his face clean.

"What's Solitude like?" that boy asked and Hadvar felt his nerves flare up as those blue eyes looked at him.

"Big," he answered almost immediately. There was no denying he craved that attention he kept getting from his new friend.

"Bigger than Whiterun?"

"I've never been inside the walls."

"What?" Hadvar's friend stopped rubbing his wet hands over his muscular arms, still dirty from however long he'd been playing in the surrounding forests. "You've _never_ been inside the walls?" His tone made it obvious that the idea of it was completely unbelievable to him.

Hadvar shook his head. "No." He kept his eyes to himself, washing his face with the river's water. "Never."

"We should go, then."

"Go? To Whiterun?"

"No, to Bleak Falls Barrow," his voice was very obviously sarcastic. "Of course to Whiterun. Tonight."

"Tonight? But my-... my uncle-..." Hadvar's heart raced at the idea, but it seemed impossible. He could only imagine Alvor's protest. "I'll... Well, I'll ask."

"I'll be on the bridge until dawn, if you come."

And with that, Hadvar watched the blond ascend the riverbank. His skin was incredibly brighter than it'd been when he saw him chasing that rabbit. The apprentice had been in that water for a few minutes but had recently absentmindedly rubbed at a single spot on his arm, most of the rest of his own body still marked with the ash of crumbling coals. As he watched his friend depart from the corner of his eye, he tried to keep his gaze on anything but that body in fear that the meaning behind it would be realized this time around. He heard the boy's footsteps disappear behind him as he walked back home, holding his clothes, and Hadvar then continued to wash his own skin. He paid particular attention to his hair and watched as blackish water trailed down his stomach. When he was satisfied, he submerged himself completely in the river to rinse off anything remaining, coming back up and crawling onto the bank.

He left his soaked blacksmith's apron hanging on the salmon line close to the river and walked back to his uncle's house in nothing but short, tan fabric that covered only his most sensitive areas.

"Uncle..." he greeted in somewhat of a questioning tone as he pulled on a clean tunic.

"Aye?" the man breathed as he whittled away at the shafts of some arrows, leaning forward in a chair at the table.

"I was wondering..." Hadvar started, soon deciding to get straight to the point. "I wanted to go out tonight, to Whiterun. I've never been inside the walls."

"You've got responsibilities, boy, and running off all alone on a whim isn't apart of that."

Hadvar had neglected to mention anything about that boy he'd met. After all, he didn't know how his uncle felt about him. Besides, he felt like their plan was personal and only _their_ business.

"Yes, Uncle."

"Now, don't think I'm all work and no play," his voice had took a gentler turn and there was humor there in the mix. "After you've earned your keep here at the forge, I'll let you have your fun. But if you want to make money from steel someday, Hadvar, you need to learn the order of things."

"Yes, Uncle," Hadvar repeated, and both times were somber - the last having a slightly different tone so it wouldn't seem disrespectful. He wasn't one for arguing, and he knew he was indebted to the man for taking him in and teaching him his work for nothing in return except a little help around the forge.

"Now, get to bed. You've got an early day tomorrow. Got an order for a full set of iron."

"A full set?" Hadvar marveled as he descended the stairs.

"Aye. You'll be working the grindstone. I might even let you make a few things, depending."

He didn't ask, "On what?" Instead, Hadvar repeated those two words (loudly, so his uncle could hear them) he'd already said twice before as he slipped into his bed in the basement.

* * *

He'd been in bed for what seemed like hours. No matter how long he closed his eyes, or he shifted position, Hadvar couldn't seem to start dreaming. Both his aunt and uncle had retired shortly after he had - he could hear Alvor's snoring and Sigrid's occasional groans of discomfort in her sleep. At this point Hadvar had taken to staring at the wall, laying on his stomach with his hand flat under his cheek. It was strange; the last few days since he'd arrived to Riverwood, he'd been out like a light. Working the forge all day wore him out more than running around Solitude ever had. But even after all those long hours, he felt as though he'd just woken up.

The only thing he could think to do was escape to that bridge to meet that boy whose name was still a mystery. For some reason, that was okay.

Slowly, as to not make any noise, Hadvar rose from his bed. He walked to the stairs, stepping up each one as he crouched, hands climbing right along as if it was a ladder. He peered over the floor to make sure his guardians were still soundly asleep before moving even more slowly to the door. He slipped out in one quick movement, his shoes in one hand and his feet warm against the cold wood of the porch.

He didn't know what they'd encounter, so Hadvar slipped one of his uncle's display daggers into the belt of his tunic on the mental promise that he'd return it when they got back.

After slipping his shoes on he headed for the bridge, a silhouetted figure coming clearer the further he walked. The sky was dark with night but light came from the stars and moons that dotted the blackness.

"Hey, _you_," the gravelly-voiced blond greeted with a smile as he sat on the bridge's short wall, legs moving just slightly back in forth in boredom. "Wasn't sure if you were ever gonna show up."

"I had to sneak out," Hadvar admitted, his cheeks burning from embarrassment and shame while his friend sported a smile.

"I didn't know anyone from Solitude could be so _daring_." Hadvar had to bite at the inside of his lip to keep from frowning at the persistent teasing. "Well, come on, then. We've only got until dawn."

He nodded, trailing behind the blond as they walked over the bridge, bright smile forming when his back was turned.


	4. A Nervous Boy and His Stretched Collar

The further they walked, the colder the air became. The thin wool Hadvar had stuffed in his shoes - he primarily used them at night and when it rained - wasn't helping his freezing arms. His fingers rubbed at the belt on his tunic in hopes that the friction would generate some heat.

"Are you cold?" his friend asked and Hadvar nodded.

"Y-Yes. How- How did you know?"

"I hear your teeth," he heard the smile in the blond's voice.

"Sorry," Hadvar concentrated long enough to say it without shivering.

"The mead'll get you warm."

"The mead?" He looked up from staring at the stone road as they walked the winding path, his eyes wide as they stared at the back of his head.

Ralof glanced back with a grin. "Aye. The mead. I figured we'd... _make a stop_ on our way to Whiterun. Just enough to get you warmer, of course."

Hadvar quietly replied, "Yeah, _of course_." He looked down at the ground as he raised his shoulders and lowered his head in hopes that covering his ears with his collar would shelter them from the gentle, freezing breeze. After a moment, he asked, "Why aren't you cold?"

"I'm already a bit drunk," Ralof explained. They both laughed, then, and the warmness that followed heated Hadvar's cheeks.

To Hadvar, the idea was absurd. Before coming to Riverwood, he barely had any of the responsibilities of a 'man' - let alone his parents' blessings to drink. "Your mother and father let you have mead?"

"They're not around to say 'no'."

Hadvar was almost too stunned to say anything. "N-not _around_?"

"Aye. Never met my mother and my father's a sell-sword. Has been since we were old enough to take care of ourselves." He couldn't reply. He couldn't think of the right words. There really was nothing he could say. Hadvar had always had both parents and even his aunt and uncle acted the same way. Here he was with two sets and this blond barely had half of one. But suddenly the stranger continued with, "You know, I would've thought a boy from Solitude would be smart enough to wear heavier clothing if he's going out, especially at night."

"Of course not. We all walk around naked with our tunics tied to our feet," Hadvar replied without missing a beat and his friend's gravelly laugh stirred the forest. He suddenly had a sense of pride among all his insecurities around this boy.

There was an awkward silence that filled the air, then, but suddenly he was being pulled by the neck of his shirt into the cover of some nearby bushes. He looked up at the world around him - having gotten used to staring at the stone path - and saw how close they were. The meadery was only a few feet away and he and the blond lingered outside the surround fence. Along the path to the walls, Hadvar could see the bright torches of patrolling guards.

"Be careful. Don't let them see you. Follow me," his friend commanded, his whisper even more gravelly than his voice.

Hadvar listened, crouching down and trailing right behind the blond. He looked away for only a moment, watching as a guard walked right past the building and he held his breath until he was gone. Suddenly he heard the gentle clinging of metal together. He looked forward again to see his friend picking the lock to the meadery, and the sudden paranoia of a criminal act forced itself under his skin.

He could only whisper, "Wai-," before he was being pulled into the now unlocked building. Again, it was by the neck of his tunic.

* * *

Hadvar couldn't breathe. The air around him was so still he was sure he was suffocating until his friend put a hand on his shoulder. He took in a shaky, quiet breath, as if his touch gave life.

"Shhh," was whispered so softly into Hadvar's ear that his legs almost gave out from under him. He turned his head to look at that face but was distracted by the direction a pointing finger. He followed it and soon his eyes were fixated on a bed up in the loft of the meadery and a lump on top of it. Only it wasn't just a lump. It was a _man_. Hadvar lost his breath again.

This time the stranger hooked his fingers onto Hadvar's collar, pulling him forward. In an instant the apprentice forgot all about the sleeping stranger (who would undoubtedly call the guards - or kill them! - if he woke up) and was entirely focused on his friend's fingers brushing against his throat with every step. He pulled him along like a dog but it seemed so incredibly intimate that Hadvar's cheeks were red as roses.

"You look sick," he suddenly said, and Hadvar realized he'd been standing still, wide-eyed and staring, a few moments after the blond pulled his hand away. _Not 'sick'_, he thought as he shifted on his feet,_ flustered, maybe_. "I have a cure for that, my friend." He held an orange-red bottle out to him. When Hadvar reached for it, he realized he was trembling.

"I don't know," came out in a squeak as he looked at it in his own palm. He cleared his throat and glanced up a few times, blinking nervously. There was a growing anxiety that he felt around this new friend of his, but there was also something else. Hadvar wasn't the type to commit crimes. It wasn't that he was too good, or pure, or innocent - he was just so deathly afraid of the various things that could happen. He imagined the guards coming in and throwing them in jail. His uncle wouldn't find out for days, maybe even weeks, and when he did, Talos couldn't stop his rage. He imagined how his heart would race if they were caught. He imagined just how he'd freeze up in fear. He imagined the man in the loft upstairs coming down and sneaking up behind the other boy with a dagger. Hadvar swallowed hard at that last thought.

Maybe it had only been a few moments, or maybe it had been a few minutes, but either Hadvar's ears had turned off or the stranger actually hadn't said a word. Finally he looked up to see those concerned blue eyes locked onto his. For a split second he swore they had been on his lips.

"I'll drink first," the blond finally grinned after pulling Hadvar down with him to sit behind the barrels, hiding them more: from the owner, from the guards, _from the world_.


	5. Blue-Eyes and Broken-Arm

The world around him dipped and swayed even if he held his head straight with both hands. When he tried to get up, he'd fall right back down and would hear a gravelly, clearly amused laugh. And it made him laugh, too.

They were surrounded by five mead bottles - three the other boy had already finished, one Hadvar had to himself, and the last he'd taken only a few swallows out of before handing it off to his friend. Blue-eyes now held it in his hand but couldn't stop laughing (quietly, of course) long enough to take a drink from it. Given, the bottles were small, but Hadvar had never had a single drink before - unless the time his uncle gave him a sip when he was just a boy counted. Hadvar didn't think it did.

Hadvar was completely out of it, but as he straightened his sight to look at his friend, the other boy seemed so relaxed. Well, at least_after_ he'd finished laughing. His smile faded to nothing more than a faint grin, but his eyes looked sad. Maybe they always did.

"Are you _okaaay_?" the blond drunkenly dragged out the last word, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Hadvar raised an eyebrow. Or at least he tried to. _Of course he was okay. He'd never felt better._

"You're staring at me."

_Oh._

"I'm-," he replied slowly, "I'm _ssssorry_."

A finger was raised at Hadvar. He crossed his eyes to look at it. "You-," the other boy hiccuped, his hand coming back to his own body so he could rub at his chest. "You don't handle your _mead_ well."

Hadvar leaned close to whisper a secret. "I've never drank before."

For a moment their faces were straight, as if he'd just admitted to ten ruthless murders. Then they both laughed, and laughed, and_laughed_, and when Hadvar opened his teary eyes again, he realized he was on top of his friend, both having slumped over in a drunken, amused state. It was just a moment later that they heard sheepskin covers shifting upstairs.

They both turned to stone, their heads sticking out beside the barrels, with the blond laying on the floor and Hadvar positioned awkwardly on top of him.

Seconds passed._ Minutes._ At least three. Hadvar's tears had turned to those of fear but he dared not let them fall. His waving vision concentrated so hard on the dim candlelight from the loft that his head began to hurt. Another minute later, Hadvar came to the conclusion that the owner was still asleep and had simply tossed and turned in his bed. A sober Hadvar would plead with Blue-eyes to go home, but not now, and not in _this_ mindset. When he looked back down, he saw those eyes staring right at his. No smile, no grin, no hint of amusement in his face. Just a full concentration. How long had he been staring?

That question didn't last long when he realized he'd been feeling warm, heavy breath against his jaw almost the entire duration of his concentration on the man upstairs. As much as Hadvar wanted so desperately to move away and apologize, he couldn't tear his gaze away. He was frozen there. He wondered if he was still breathing. When he noticed that their chests would brush against each other - their breath in such unison - he settling on the fact that they were still alive and not in some surprisingly pleasant underworld where only the lowest criminals go.

They stared at each other until Hadvar suddenly jumped at the unexpected feeling of steady, calloused (yet sweetly gentle) fingers skimming across his side. He scrambled to his feet and realized then, as they stood, that he was panting. They both were. Right when Hadvar opened his mouth to apologize, the boy said, "Let's go. I still have to show you around Whiterun." There was no smile added.

And soon Hadvar realized how very off-putting that was.

It was like it was contagious; Hadvar, too, suddenly felt all hints of a smile leaving him. He felt sobered-up. He felt like he'd been drained of all happiness. Never would he see it again. The slower they walked to the back door to exit sneakily, the more he questioned if he'd ever felt it at all.

After lowering himself to hide in a bush, his friend said, "You take that guard. I'll take these two."

Hadvar looked at him with parted lips, and finally he saw that familiar grin. _He was only kidding._ Warmth spread back over the apprentice's body and he looked down at the rabbit-chaser's surprisingly clean teeth, realizing how very drunk he still was. Hadvar wobbled on his feet, unsteady from supporting a squatting body. Finally he fell over completely. Drunkenly, he put his hand behind him to catch the fall, but his wrist and shoulder ended up twisting underneath his oncoming weight. There was enough of the Sober-Hadvar coming out suddenly that he suppressed a groan of pain, his breath catching and holding itself in the top of his chest. He couldn't feel his legs for a moment. Hadvar looked up at the stars. Presently, they moved. _No_, they didn't. _He_was moving.

His friend was pulling him by the leg back behind the bush, and then he ducked at the sight of a passing guard. The boy was so heavily kneeling on top of his stomach that air finally escaped his lungs. He hadn't begun another gasp for air when the boy clasped a hand over his mouth from above, covering both his lips and his nose and not letting an ounce of air in. It would suppress the noise so they wouldn't get caught, but it would also suppress Hadvar's_breath_.

After what felt like the longest time, his sight was being swallowed by black blotches. His heart beat with the need to force him to breathe. Suddenly he clawed desperately at the arm but it didn't even flinch.

Hadvar supposed the guard had passed because eventually the rabbit-chaser pulled his hand off his mouth and his weight off his torso. Still, Hadvar didn't move. After he gasped and wheezed for breath, he stared up at a worried, side-ways face he didn't recognize. Brown hair... no, that was just the darkness, it was really_ blond_... blue eyes... _Blue-eyes_.

"I think I broke my arm," he spoke breathlessly when he finally pulled his mind out of its daze of pain, suffocation, and drunkenness. The drunkenness and pain remained.

The stranger didn't say anything. For a moment he was still, and yet at the same time he was moving quickly. Maybe that was the drunkenness too. Hadvar felt his body being turned on its side, allowing his still-twisted arm to free itself from the pin his body had on it. He wanted to cry before realizing that his face was already wet with tears.

"I'm taking you back," was all that was explained. Hadvar felt himself being dragged along and he did his best to move his feet in a walk that was less than twice as slow as the sneaking boy.

They trailed up the winding path and soon found themselves right back at their village, darkened and gloomy as clouds began to hide the moons. Hadvar expected to feel the wood of his uncle's front steps under his feet but was instead led to a side path. His friend's house, he supposed.

* * *

"He has swords," a blond girl said, talking to a boy who looked much like her.

"I _know_ he has swords," the stranger's voice came from behind a wall where Blue-eyes was out of sight from where Hadvar sat at their table.

"And he knows how to use them."

"I'd like to see him try."

"I wouldn't. I'd have to clean you off the road. Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of rocks?"

_This is my sister, Gerdur_, his friend had introduced her to his injured friend when they burst through the door. _What have you done now, Ralof?_ she said, obviously not surprised. _Ralof_, a pained Hadvar mentally noted. _So that's his name._

He ordered Gerdur to make a healing drink and she didn't bat an eye until he _asked_, and _nicely_ at that. He left Hadvar in a chair and rushed off to the other side of the room.

"I'm telling you, brother, that blacksmith will kill you. We'll have to make up a story for the boy's uncle."

"His name is Hadvar."

_How did he know?_ Hadvar wondered, nails clawing at the table as he gritted his teeth from the pain in his arm.

"Hadvar, then," Gerdur nodded at the strange boy in her house as she stirred the mixture she'd put into a clean pot. "Drink this," she soon handed him a tankard with a hot, foul-smelling liquid. He sipped from it, desperate for the _healing_ part of this drink, and practically choked on the taste in his mouth. It was even worse than forge smoke. Hesitantly he swallowed, blinking as his vision began to straighten. His head began to clear and move away a cloud that lingered on his brain. Yet it wasn't helping the pain in his arm. In fact, it was only making it worse.

"I don't think it's... I don't think it's healing," Hadvar spoke with a tightly clenched jaw, brows dipping.

Gerdur laughed. "Is that what my brother said it was? No, no. It clears your senses. _Kicks the mead out_," she emphasized the last words. "He just gets drunk all the time, so in a way I suppose this is_ his_ 'healing potion'."

Hadvar frowned more as his wounded muscles and tendons throbbed. "What do we tell my uncle?"

"Well..._ we_ don't tell him anything. He should _not_ even know _we_'re involved. _We_, Ralof," she made her voice louder, "because you had to drag me into this."

"I didn't drag you. I dragged him." Ralof, by the tone of his voice, obviously had a grin. The corners of Hadvar's lips twitched. Silence filled the air for a few moments as Gerdur concentrated on mixing new things into the cauldron.

Finally Hadvar admitted, "He didn't give me permission to leave."

Gerdur's brows furrowed. When she looked at him, he realized how beautiful she was. Her hair was brighter than her brother's even after he'd washed it. Her eyes were wider, too, but they were an obvious blue - much like her brother. Hadvar looked down at the floor beneath his feet.

"But you're a man," she pointed out.

It was true; Hadvar was sixteen and some odd months. He was well into manhood but he rarely felt much more than a boy. "Well," he said as he continued to scratch at the table, "I'm his employee, too. I think he's more worried about the lack of help at the forge. It takes a while to-..."

Hadvar almost gasped. He'd only just remembered the full order of armor Uncle had told him about as he went to bed. He told him he'd need to be up early - and here he was, at a stranger's house in the middle of the night without a wink of sleep. Worst of all, Gerdur had told him his shoulder might be dislocated and his wrist was definitely sprained. He had to hold it at an awkward angle. There was no way he could work with it.

"I have to go," he said and jumped to his feet suddenly. A pain shot through his arm and he whimpered.

Ralof emerged from the other side of the room, holding pieces of wood he was no doubt going to use to keep Hadvar's arm in place. "Not yet." He looked worried again. "I was going to set your arm."

Hadvar's face flushed; he could feel it drain of color. "It- It's okay," he assured quickly as he held his arm and walked toward the door. "I'll... I'll see you around, Ralof." He nodded politely and pushed the door open with his good hand, not at all excited to try to sneak back to his bed in his uncle's house.


	6. Cuts, Wounds, and Potions to Fix Them

When Hadvar had quietly made his way back to his bed, he couldn't lie down. When he tried, the pain in his shoulder caused him to cry out, and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth. It reminded him of Ralof.

So all night he sat up at the top of his bed, propped against the wall. He drunkenly drifted off like that, and he awoke when a spasm in his arm caused him to flinch. It had only been an hour or so, he supposed. His head ached like it'd never ached before and every muscle was sore - especially the ones Ralof had touched. He heard Sigrid's dainty footsteps on the floor above as she mixed oats into the cauldron for breakfast. Hadvar could smell cider already and his stomach roared so loudly he wondered if his aunt could hear it.

"You look undead, boy," his uncle had greeted when Hadvar slowly ascended the stairs. "I hope you're ready for the longest day of your life."

* * *

The apprentice blacksmith stared down at the steel blade he was sharpening. His vision wavered in a way that was different than last night. He wasn't happy like he'd been then, and it certainly didn't feel good. In fact, he'd never felt so _terrible_. His uncle had been speaking for a long while but Hadvar couldn't understand his words.

"Hadvar! Wake up, boy!"

Hadvar jumped - but even _that_ was groggy. He blinked a few times and turned his head to his uncle.

"If you keep nodding off like that, I'll be cleaning you off the grindstone!"

"Sorry, Uncle."

"Wake up. Take a break if you have to."

"I'm fine, Uncle."

His responses were monotonic; all his energy was being harbored so he could clench his jaw. It was the only way he could fight back the pain. In just a moment he was back in his daze, eyes half-closed as he stared into the steel again. _Lay your head down,_ it said. _I'm so shiny and smooth, I'll be the best bed you've ever had. Fall asleep and everything will be alright._

Hadvar shouted as he jumped up from the grindstone, falling backwards into the tanning rack after a sharp pain had shot through his fingers. He rolled over on the wooden porch and sat on his knees, hunched over as he held his fingers tightly with his other hand. When he looked down, he saw blood seeping through the spaces. There was pain that shot through his arm, too, but at least his sliced fingers gave him an _excuse_ to cry.

"Are you alright?" was repeated hastily. It was only then that he realized his uncle had stopped pounding away at some component of the set they were just starting out on. Hadvar hadn't paid attention. He'd just sharpened whatever his uncle told him to. "Let me see your hand, boy!"

Hadvar had successfully hidden his swollen, bruised wrist (and similarly injured shoulder) beneath his tunic and apron. It just so happened that the hand Alvor was asking to see was on that very arm. How would he explain an injury that didn't match?

"I'm alright," the boy assured uncertainly. His voice was high-pitched with tears and muffled by gritted teeth. Surprisingly, though, his words were steady and collected. "It's just-... It's just a little cut. It scared me, that's all. I'm sorry, Uncle. I'll go clean it off in the river."

With a sudden rush of adrenaline, Hadvar raced off to the bridge he'd crossed with Ralof just hours before, still holding his fingers as he dropped to his knees at the bank. He left behind his uncle at the forge and the tanning rack he'd broken when he fell into it. The display weapons had flown all over the place, too.

Hadvar sat there and cried, turning his head to press his lips to his bicep to muffle his persistent sounds. Finally he loosened his grip on his cut fingers and looked down. He only cried harder when he saw that his fingers were sliced through by half. Worse, his previous injuries screamed with pain.

Death sounded like a sweet escape.

Then he heard, "Hey, _you_."

His heart stopped its racing to skip a beat or two, and Hadvar lost his breath as a result. Quickly he wiped his tears but it was difficult to keep from crying. He didn't have to turn his head to know that Ralof was coming close. He finally saw him when he knelt beside the crying, wannabe blacksmith with bloody hands.

"By Talos, your _hands_." Ralof's voice was softer than Hadvar had ever heard it before. "Let me see."

Hadvar obeyed without a thought and carefully showed him. But suddenly Blue-eyes was out of sight, racing off in the direction from which he'd come. Hadvar was too shocked - from his injury last night, from the one today, and lastly from the idea of being abandoned by the only friend he had - to watch where he was going. He simply closed his eyes tightly and tried to think of a story for his uncle about his wrist and shoulder. _I woke up in the middle of the night and tripped over something in the dark._ That sounded good._ I didn't want to worry you._ That's what he'd tell him. Hadvar braced for his uncle's anger when he heard footsteps behind him again, but suddenly he felt something cold against his lips.

He jumped back and his eyes fluttered open to see that the blond boy was next to him again, holding a vial with a red liquid inside.

"Drink it," Ralof ordered, glancing from Hadvar's lips to the vial in his hand. This time the boy didn't obey right away.

"What is it?" he asked and for some reason the sound of his own voice brought on fresh tears. He was so embarrassed, crying in front of that stupid rabbit-chaser with those stupid blue eyes.

"Healing potion."

Hadvar tilted his head back to let his friend pour the liquid into his mouth right after he heard the word 'healing'. The taste wasn't particularly pleasant but it was drinkable at the least - much better than whatever it was Gerdur had given him last night.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Ralof asked in a quiet voice - almost a whisper.

Hadvar, whose cheeks were still wet with tears, blinked sleepily. "Better."

Ralof had coaxed him under the bridge after Hadvar told him his uncle would be looking for him at any moment. Now they sat side-by-side. Their heads touched the stone of the bridge above them. The river's warm water passed right over their feet. Hadvar had taken off his shoes and Ralof hadn't been wearing any to begin with.

"You're clumsy," he said suddenly.

Hadvar frowned. "_I am not_."

"You are. I'm surprised you didn't trip and fall on the dagger you made me."

He wanted to keep frowning but he let out a laugh, and at the same time, more tears fell from the brim of his eyelids. He'd barely stopped crying since Ralof had given him that potion. The pain was fading and his injuries were slowly but steadily healing. Now he was mostly letting out all the _shock_. He glanced over at Ralof, looking down at the dark mud beneath their feet right after so his friend wouldn't see how red his cheeks were. He blushed more when he saw that grin.

"That's okay," he whispered eventually. "I am, too. Or maybe just reckless."

"Definitely reckless," Hadvar agreed. He looked down at his fingers then and saw that the cut had healed as though it'd been a healthy week or two. There was still a small wound but blood had congealed and closed it. It no longer bled. While the injury still throbbed, it was closing up before his very eyes. But best of all, his arm hurt considerably less. There was still a terrible pain, but it wasn't hopeless and spirit-breaking like it'd been before Ralof showed up - when Hadvar wanted to _die_. He was thankful for what he'd done and he was sure they were even now - a dagger for a healing potion. But immediately Hadvar was worried when he realized a steel dagger wasn't even _half_ the cost of what Ralof had given him. "Where did you get that potion?" he asked then.

"I, uh..." Ralof took a deep breath. "Well, I took it from my father. Did I tell you he was a sell-sword?"

"Yes."

"He keeps a stash to refill when he comes. Blades, potions, things like that. He hides it so no one'll ever find it. He even only told Gerdur and I had to ask _her_ for it. It took a lot of nagging."

"For me?" Hadvar's brows furrowed and he turned his head to his friend who did the same. Their shoulders were already touching and although Hadvar's instinct was to turn away from the intimacy, Ralof's eyes would allow him no such mercy.

"For you. I felt bad. For influencing your clumsiness, of course." Hadvar could see his friend's grin from the very bottom of his sight.

"_Of course_," he nodded without knowing what words had come from those lips.

_Was Ralof leaning closer?_ Hadvar was sure he was. It wasn't until they were close enough to almost brush lips that Hadvar turned his head forward, cheeks on fire as he panted again. For some reason he felt like crying more. He felt like something was wrong with him. Surely there was. He'd never been so confused in his whole life._ Did Ralof want to... to _kiss_ him?_ No one had ever wanted him like that. Certainly not a _boy_.

"Will your father be angry?" he whispered after Ralof leaned back on his side. _Anything to shift the attention. _He hoped his friend wouldn't be upset - if he truly _had_ wanted to kiss him, that was. Hadvar wasn't sure of anything at the moment.

"Aye, but I don't have to do anything to make that happen."

Hadvar frowned again.

"How can I pay you back? That dagger isn't worth nearly as much."

"Tell me about you."

Hadvar answered with a hesitant, confused, "What?"

"_Tell me about you,_ Hadvar. This trip of yours, from Solitude? Tell me about that."


	7. Bridge Talk and Gentle Insults

By the time Hadvar had finished his story, his throat hurt from the strain. He told his friend of the trip: he met the merchant at the Solitude gates after his parents had waved him off; he rode a tame mare called _Hearthfire's Prevail_ most of the way; (she was named by the farmer whose nine foals' lives were claimed by a terrible sickness, leaving only one who seemed thoroughly unaffected by the small plague); his guide had the biggest map he'd ever seen and would take it out whenever they got to a fork in the road so Hadvar could decide which was the best course; they stopped at every village so the merchant could trade and they took shelter in the inns at night. He told Ralof of the wolf howls (Hadvar swore he saw Ralof flinch at the mention of it) they had to outrun and the most beautiful sights Hadvar could remember seeing. The more he tried to recall it, the more he realized his memories were slowly slipping away. It made him sad.

"We arrived at night. The merchant told me he'd stay in the inn until morning so I could say goodbye to Hearthfire," Hadvar finally finished his story. "My parents gave him the horse for payment. And some coin, too, I think."

"And did he stay until morning?" asked Ralof. He was expecting the worse; maybe he could tell Hadvar's sadness by the tone of his voice.

"No," he frowned and gazed into the mud that slid underneath his slightly squirming feet. "I made sure to wake up right at sunrise but I was told he left long before that."

"_Dishonorable_," Ralof exclaimed angrily.

Hadvar grinned shortly. "I suppose he was eager to get back to trading. Once you travel the roads, it's hard to think about anything else..." He trailed off then, and he could see Ralof's head turn toward him as he did.

"Do _you_ think about anything else?"

He thought for a moment. He loved being a blacksmith. He loved weapons and armor and putting his all into something. Hadvar still remembered how good it felt when Ralof complimented that blade he'd given him. He hadn't seen Ralof without it since. He could even feel it now, pressing against his waist as they sat together. "Yes," he finally answered. "I would love to see more of Skyrim. But... with that curiosity comes fear," Hadvar admitted quietly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm okay with just being a blacksmith."

Why did he insist on telling this boy all these things? Hadvar settled on the idea that because Ralof was his only friend, it was okay to own up to his weaknesses. He didn't really know how friendship worked, though; in Solitude, he was known more as the blacksmith's unwanted nuisance than a beloved child of the city. That's why he came to Riverwood: Alvor would never cast him aside like the angry Beirand did when he'd pester him with questions.

"Fear? Fear of what?"

"Damn near everything," Hadvar admitted suddenly. "I think I'm more afraid of people... like bandits, I mean... than wolves or sabre cats and the like. At least animals always have the same mindset. You can always expect them to try to kill you right away. People are different. Different motives - you know. They won't always want to kill you first. But there's other things too, like... like _Falmer_. Giants. _Draugr especially._" Hadvar finally whispered the last two words.

"Draugr _especially_?" Ralof repeated. "Is that your worst fear?"

Hadvar swallowed hard. "I don't know. It might be. I've just... I've had a lot of nightmares about them since I came to live in Riverwood." He hugged his knees to his chest. "I never thought about them much in Solitude."

"_Bleak Falls Barrow_," the other boy said and the name made Hadvar shudder. "That's why. I don't like it either. It feels like it casts a cloud over the village, doesn't it? At least in Solitude you had walls and no haunted ruins. What do you dream of?"

He didn't speak for a long moment. He recalled his various nightmares as he gnawed at his lower lip, the skin there dry from the forge's heat. His last dream was a night ago (the night _before_ Hadvar had gotten drunk and practically broke his arm) and he woke up covered in sweat and tears. "They'll crawl into the house at night and... _come_ for me... They never stand on... on two legs for some reason. They always _twist_ and _crawl_ and _bite_ and, _and_..."

Hadvar found himself panting and only noticed it when Ralof put his hand on his knee.

"Sorry," the apprentice apologized. Thankfully he took his hand away _before_ Hadvar could brush it off.

Friendship was already so intimate to him; anything more made his stomach tie up in knots. That's why he couldn't bare to accept Ralof's advances, he supposed. If they _were_ advances. Surely he was reading too much into it.

There's no way Ralof was interested in Hadvar like that. _Certainly_ no way.

"I wouldn't want to meet one either. Or a Falmer, _or_ a giant. I think I feel for wolves in the way you do for the draugr."

Hadvar looked over at Ralof when he remembered the second time they saw each other - around the same time he made him that dagger. That's when Ralof told him he'd been attacked by wolves. _Once. Just over the bridge. Got me out of nowhere, the pack of them. Almost lost my arm._ Hadvar's hairs raised as he recalled the boy's voice. In that moment, he wanted desperately to uplift his mood again. He found himself so dependent on how Ralof was feeling. If the blond was upset, so was Hadvar.

"Wolves don't scare me as much," Hadvar said. "If they come for you in the middle of the night, I'll fight them off. As long as you do the same for me and the draugr."

Ralof smiled and turned his head toward the young blacksmith again. His expression had seemed distant as he thought - _back to the attack_, Hadvar supposed. "Okay. That's fair. You bring the weapons and I'll bring the potions."

Hadvar laughed. He remained silent for a few moments. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. That was a perfect way to end their conversation, he decided. So he sighed. "Where will I tell my uncle I've been?" he thought aloud.

"Tell him the truth?" Ralof suggested.

He frowned. "I wouldn't dare."

"Why not? Will he beat you?"

Hadvar's brows met as if he was offended by the idea. "No. He's never hit me."

"Then why are you afraid?" Ralof asked, obviously perplexed.

"He'll be disappointed in me," Hadvar shrugged. "He's been kind enough to let me live under his roof and teach me his skill. I don't want him to think I don't appreciate it."

"That's what family is supposed to do," Blue-eyes said immediately. Hadvar looked at him. He looked back. "Family's supposed to give and expect nothing in return, even if you disappoint. _That's_ family."

Hadvar asked, "Is that how your family is?"

Ralof didn't answer directly. In fact, he didn't speak for a moment. Finally he said, "Sometimes you have to _find_ family. Sometimes you're not born with it." Hadvar watched the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed, and it made his stomach twist with various emotion - much like he'd felt at the river. He thought about that day a lot, ashamedly. It was hard not to. "My sister is," Ralof finally continued. "She's like that. We take care of each other, I suppose."

This time, Hadvar put _his_ hand on _Ralof's_ knee. He saw a flash of a small smile. He couldn't think of any consoling words. Fortunately Ralof spoke before he did.

"Maybe if you tell your uncle the truth, he'll see how great I am for giving you a healing potion. Then you won't have to _sneak out_ when we go to Whiterun tonight."

Hadvar gasped at the idea, rendered speechless at the thought.

Ralof flashed him a toothy smile. "Alright. _Tomorrow_ night. You'll need to rest first. Sorry, I'm not used to the milk-drinking ways of Solitude boys."

"Shut up," the darker-haired boy scoffed immediately. He turned his head to hide the smile that followed.


	8. White Lies and Wonderful Eyes

To Hadvar, clearly explaining a last-minute lie to his uncle was like trying to climb a mountain. His tongue fumbled over his words like feet over loose rocks.

"Where have you been?" Uncle had asked rather angrily. It nearly made Hadvar stop in his tracks.

After Hadvar and Ralof had parted ways and crawled out from under the bridge, the apprentice spent the walk back thinking about what he'd tell him. Admittedly, he'd taken slow steps, but there was no way he could _truly_ prepare for more deceitfulness. "I... I didn't get much sleep last night, Uncle," he answered. It wasn't entirely a lie, but that would change quickly. "I went to wash my fingers and... and, well... I fell asleep."

Alvor stared at him, dumbfounded, as Hadvar had expected. It was a stupid lie but it was the best he had. He thought he'd been pretty clever when he'd thought it up. Now he felt as dumb as the very rocks he walked across.

"You... _fell asleep_?"

"I've been... I've been having nightmares lately," he admitted to add to his strange story. "Of... _draugr_, mainly." From the middle of the road, Hadvar glanced up toward the direction of the ruins. He didn't even try to make his expression one of fear; it came naturally.

"Ah," Alvor nodded after a moment. "I keep forgetting you're not used to sleeping within arms-length of the dead." Hadvar didn't doubt that his uncle empathized with his obviously sensitive nephew. That was one of the many things that made him so great. Unfortunately, it also made him gullible to Hadvar's lies. "Let me see your wound."

Finally Hadvar obeyed and stepped up to hold his hand out to him. When the boy had run off, he'd told him it was only a small cut. It was a lie then, but now it was true: Ralof's potion had healed it considerably. By tonight, he didn't doubt, it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

Uncle surveyed it carefully. "Aye, that's not too bad," said Alvor. "There's still a lot of work to be done, nephew." Hadvar felt staring eyes burning into his flesh.

"I can work, Uncle."

"Are you sure?" he asked. It was obvious in his tone that he was fearful Hadvar would run off again. By now, he felt like the guiltiest boy in the world.

"Of course."

"Alright. Fix that tanning rack first. Then pick up that armor. Don't be nodding off with a blade in your hands again, Hadvar. It could be your neck next time instead of your fingers."

"Yes, Uncle."

Hadvar was thoroughly surprised his uncle believed him. But Hadvar had never lied to him before, and as far as the man knew, he had no _reason_ to lie. The apprentice did as he was told while hiding his shame as the worst nephew in Skyrim. A self-proclaimed title, of course.

* * *

An entire two days passed before Hadvar saw Ralof again. His uncle had been pulled aside by a passing merchant (who reminded Hadvar of the one he'd traveled with) to do business. Ralof took this opportunity to stroll right up to the forge and greet Hadvar as it was the most normal thing in the world. The young blacksmith felt like their relationship was a secret (because he'd kept it secret so far) and by talking in public, everyone would know the intimate details of their lives they'd shared. Maybe, just by looking at the two together, Hadvar thought, everyone would know about the criminal deeds they'd done.

"Hey, blacksmith," Ralof said. "Got anything for sale?"

Hadvar stopped dragging his knife across the leather on the rack and looked up at Ralof with wide eyes. He had a smile but it _almost_ angered Hadvar. Honestly, though, it made _him_ happy, too. Ralof's moods were contagious.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I live in this village," Ralof jested.

"My uncle's right inside. He'll be out any moment," whispered Hadvar. He stood, staring worriedly at him.

"So?"

"So... he'll _see_ you."

Hadvar watched as Ralof simply blinked a few times. He was puzzled. "Why can't we be seen together? Is it because I'm hideous?"

He joked often. Hadvar had noticed that shortly after they first met. He wanted to continue to be angry, but he wanted to laugh at the same time. Logic soon followed. Of course Alvor wouldn't know the details of their interactions _just_ by seeing them together. That was impossible, he told himself. Immediately his guilt resurfaced, this time for the way he'd just treated his only friend.

"Yeah," Hadvar played along eventually. "You're pretty ugly."

Having never been popular among people of his own age, Hadvar half-expected Ralof to be angry with him. Instead the other boy's bottom lip jutted out and his eyebrows met at the lower-center of his forehead. He was pouting, and he looked like a child whose mother denied him something of grave importance. Hadvar laughed and took a dull blade from Alvor's freshly-fashioned pile.

"Do you still want to go to Whiterun, Ralof?" he asked quietly over the sound of the grindstone. Hadvar slowly sharpened the blade. If his uncle came back to work and saw his apprentice talking instead of working _and_ talking, he'd certainly send Ralof on his way.

Blue-eyes sat on the flat stones surrounding the forge fire. Hadvar hoped he wouldn't fall back into the embers. The very thought made him shudder. "Only if you'll go with me."

_Don't read too much into it_, Hadvar told himself. But his tone sounded so... _sweet_. So flirtatious. It made the blacksmith falter in his steady _peddle-stepping_, as he called it.

Suddenly he stopped and looked up at his friend. "We won't stop at the meadery?"

They just _barely_ got away last time. Hadvar couldn't bare trying, again, to evade the guards while drunk - or worse, with an injured shoulder and wrist. His body was all healed now, but he was still haunted by the pain - especially in his dreams. Last night, for example, he'd imagined having to fight off a draugr with a broken arm.

"No. We won't even look at it," Ralof assured strongly.

"Okay," Hadvar finally agreed. He lowered his voice, although there was no one within hearing-distance. "But we have to come up with a plan first, to get into the gates."

"A plan? What's that?"

The boys grinned at each other, but Hadvar lowered his head into his work as soon as he heard his uncle's door open and voices trailing outside. Hadvar immediately noticed that Ralof hadn't moved an inch.

"Thank you, Alvor! I now remember why I stop in Riverwood every time. Fine set, this. I may just have to take that apprentice of yours off your hands!" said a high-pitched, unfamiliar voice.

"I wouldn't dream of it, old friend. He's quite the asset. Hard to keep focused, but an _asset_ nonetheless."

While Hadvar was torn over the compliment and the slight insult (or so _he_ saw it), he smiled shyly and kept working. He could see Ralof smiling at him, too, from the top of his vision. It only made him blush harder.

He heard his uncle and his apparent 'old friend' say their goodbyes and the light horse trotting that followed. In just a moment, his uncle turned the corner into his forge and looked the unexpected boy over. Hadvar tried to brace himself for every reaction possible.

"Aye... _Ralof_," he nodded toward the boy as he reached for the armor he'd been improving when the merchant showed up.

Hadvar's throat constricted. He should've guessed they knew each other; it was a tiny village and they'd both been here for years. But how _well_ did they know each other? What did Uncle think of Hadvar's new friend?

"Alvor," Ralof nodded politely.

Hadvar kept his head down in his work, and Ralof didn't move from his spot on the edge of the forge fire's pit.

"How's your sister?"

"She's well, of course. Been working hard at the mill."

"Oh, aye? I'm glad she took it off your aunt's hands - rest her soul. You know, I was worried she'd sell it off to some foreigner in her later days. We'd all be paying with our lives for the winter's wood!" Alvor exclaimed.

Hadvar felt thoroughly excluded from the conversation, but he found himself interested to hear about all these new connections and the people his uncle was revealing.

Alvor soon continued. "And what of you? You think you'll work the mill with her for years to come?"

It took Ralof so long to respond that Hadvar looked up from the grindstone. His friend was gazing off into a world that wasn't there. His uncle still pounded away at the armor that was coming along nicely - as always.

"No," Ralof finally sighed. He looked right at Hadvar and spoke, as if his words weren't meant for Alvor. "I'd like to travel, I think. See Skyrim and all its worth."

"Is that right?" Alvor continued conversation but it was obvious in his tone that he wasn't paying much attention. He was so concentrated on his work that he didn't seem to notice that Hadvar had stopped sharpening the blade.

Ralof continued to talk and stare at Hadvar who couldn't break the gaze with those pretty eyes. "That's right. Maybe take on a companion. See the land together. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Aye," Hadvar answered, breathless and quiet. "_Wonderful._"


	9. Lies to Make and Secrets to Keep

Hadvar's heart had been racing ever since Gerdur had called her brother for help at the mill. Now night was falling, and he and his uncle were heading into the house to eat and, eventually, _supposedly_ (in Hadvar's case), sleep.

Sigrid's food was always delicious. Somehow her recipes were better than his own mother's. The thought of her, though, brought a brief pain to his heart. It passed when Alvor suddenly interrupted the subtle homesickness.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Hadvar: when you were fixing the display table, was anything missing?"

Hadvar's heart dropped into his stomach.

"_Fixing_ the display table? What happened to it?" Sigrid asked in a soft voice.

"The boy fell into it. It was easily fixed. Blacksmith accident. It's a rookie mistake. Happens to everyone," answered Alvor. He grinned at Hadvar but the boy could barely stomach his stew any longer.

He could only imagine how they'd react if all his lies came unfurled in one moment. Over a stupid dagger, of all things.

"What's missing?" she inquired further after eyeing Hadvar to make sure he wasn't injured.

"Just an iron dagger."

Hadvar noticed he was trembling as he spooned a bit of beef into his mouth. Of the few things he remembered from the night he got drunk with his friend, taking the dagger was one of them. He couldn't recall putting it back. In fact, he was sure he didn't have it on him when he returned home. Had he lost it on the road? Had it fallen out of his belt? What if he'd left it at the meadery? Could it be traced back to him?

"There's two ingots missing as well. A leather strip too, I think, but I don't count those as often," Alvor continued.

Hadvar's face was flushed of all color. He felt cold, like a _draugr_ had touched his heart with its bony fingers. He bargained with himself then: either he would tell the truth about the dagger he stole for protection the other night or he'd tell the truth about the one he'd made for Ralof. It wasn't a hard decision.

"I used the ingots to make a new dagger for Ralof." Hadvar pushed a leek underneath the surface of his stew only to watch it bob back up again. "I meant to tell you, but it slipped my mind. I'm sorry, Uncle." When he looked up he saw that Alvor was looking at him and chewing, but instead of looking angry, he was simply neutral.

"That's alright. With all the coin I made from that set you helped me with, you've paid for it. Just don't make a habit out of giving away your goods, boy."

"I won't. As for the missing dagger... I don't know what could've happened to it... Maybe it fell into the grass when I knocked everything over. I'll look tomorrow."

"It's alright," Alvor assured. "It's only iron. I'll just have you make another. Was it good?" he asked suddenly.

"Wha- oh... Ralof's blade? Oh, yes," Hadvar nodded. "I... I think it was the best I've made so far."

Alvor's eyebrows raised with interest. "Truly?"

Hadvar nodded, and he glanced at Sigrid who was blowing on the chunk of steaming meat on her spoon. She smiled at her nephew.

"Tell him to bring it by the forge sometime. I'd like to see for myself."

Hadvar breathed a long, slow breath, and out with it came his nervousness.

* * *

"Hey, _you_," Ralof greeted. Hadvar was already getting used to that.

But right now, he wasn't in the mood for it. "Do you remember that dagger I had the other night?"

Ralof hopped off the short wall of the bridge and got to his feet when Hadvar was close. "Not a bit. You had a dagger?"

"Yes. I took it for protection, and now my uncle's noticed it missing. But I've searched all around the forge and the house, and I can't find it."

"So?"

"_So?_" Hadvar's face heated with sudden anger. He was already on edge from almost being caught in a web of lies (that he was, admittedly, overreacting to) and Ralof wasn't helping one bit. "What do you mean, '_so_'? If he finds out I took it... He just... He _can't_ find out I took it!" he tried to whisper but he was so worked up that it wasn't working out well. His eyes burned with tears from anger, sadness, shame, and anxiety. "It's not '_so_'. It's _important_ to me! You're so... _You're just_... You don't understand!"

"You're cute when you're angry," Ralof replied.

The compliment caught him so off-guard that Hadvar blinked back his tears and collected as much logic as he could find within his emotions. He swallowed hard and tilted his head down in shame.

Ralof, still leaning against the bridge's side, bent down to meet Hadvar's gaze on the ground. "I'm sorry, okay? I'll help you look for it. Does your uncle _think_ you took it?"

Hadvar rubbed quickly at his eyes and shook his head, looking away to stare at the dark, flowing river rather than into Ralof's eyes. The moons were full and bright tonight. They hurt his eyes when he looked up at them. "No, I don't think so. I told him it must've fallen when I fell back. He said I could make another."

"Why are you so worried, then?" Ralof asked softly. "He doesn't think you took it. He trusts you. Even if he _found out_ you took it - which is very unlikely - he wouldn't hurt you. Would he?"

Hadvar shook his head.

"Alright, then. See? It's okay."

Hadvar felt like a child. A guilty child who'd just thrown a tantrum, to be exact. He nodded this time. "Thanks."

"I'll help you look anyway. What do I get if I find it first?" Ralof's voice turned to one of playful excitement.

The apprentice shrugged. "What do you want?"

"I'd _liiiike_..." he dragged the word on, rocking on his heels. It immediately made Hadvar nervous. "Well, we'll discuss the terms after we find it. _You_ get something if _you_ find it, too."

He nodded but was thoroughly worried. What would Ralof want from him? What could _he_ want from Ralof?

* * *

They'd been searching for at least an hour. At first they'd split up but remained within ear-shot and eye-sight, and now, as Whiterun and its outlying buildings came into sight, they were close together. Hadvar's hands and knees were sore from feeling all over the ground. They were retracing absolutely every step. Frankly, he was surprised Ralof had stuck around so long. He himself was close to giving up.

"Do you really want to travel around Skyrim?" Hadvar whispered, although no one (or so they thought) was around to hear them. He glanced up to see the orange-red torch ends of a few patrolling guards. The two boys were far enough away to move comfortably. He hadn't stopped thinking about what Ralof had said to his uncle (mostly to him, actually) when he was asked of his future plans.

"I'd like to. Would you?"

Hadvar could still hear Ralof's words that so heartily echoed his own internal feelings. _Maybe take on a companion. See the land together._ "Yes, but not alone. I'd be too lonely and... well, I'd feel vulnerable."

"Maybe we'll travel one day, together," Ralof suggested.

Hadvar nodded and grinned. The idea sounded so incredible. Would he really do it, though? Would he adventure with Ralof, a boy he barely knew?

But he _did_ know him - at least somewhat. He knew he had a mill-running sister and a sell-sword father who got angry for no reason. He knew he'd never met his mother and that he was attacked by wolves once. He knew that was his greatest fear - or one of them. He knew the boy liked to get drunk and he was reckless even when he wasn't. He liked to make jokes. He liked to confuse Hadvar with sudden compliments and closeness. He had an aunt and she used to run the mill but it was apparent she'd passed away.

So he _did_ know him.

The young apprentice sat on his knees then and watched as Ralof continued to search. After a moment, he glanced up to see the boy looking at him.

"Does your father beat you?" Hadvar asked when their gazes connected.

Ralof sat up, too. Even in the dark night, he could see his brows furrow. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," Hadvar shrugged. "You asked if my uncle did... And you said you don't have to _do_ anything to make him angry. And, well, you have a lot of scars."

Blue-eyes had moved to sit more naturally, with his legs loosely crossed. "He believes in... _physical enforcement_, I guess you could say." Ralof nodded.

Hadvar frowned sympathetically at him. It was almost a pout, much like his friend had formed at the forge. Ralof adverted his gaze to stare down at the rocks near Hadvar's knees. It was the first time he'd ever done that. "How often does he come home?" he asked.

"Once a month or so. He's been coming less often lately, ever since my aunt died and Gerdur took over the mill. He only comes back for a few days. I know he has homes elsewhere. Probably families, too."

"How long has it been since he was here?" Hadvar asked, immediately worried. With good luck, he'd tell him he'd just left before Hadvar arrived. But the boy knew he would never be so fortunate.

Ralof bit his lip. Nervousness was not a familiar face on him. It quickly spread to Hadvar. "Two months," he whispered.

* * *

"We haven't checked in the meadery yet," Ralof's gravelly whisper sent shivers down Hadvar's spine.

They'd continued searching - more cautiously, as they neared Whiterun's gates - all along the path and even near the bush where Hadvar had fallen over onto his own arm. He blushed, embarrassed, when he thought about it.

"If it was there, it would've been found already. Don't you think?"

"Sure, but what will they do with it if they find it?"

Hadvar looked at Ralof and thought. "I guess... I guess they'd give it to the guards, if they reported the picked lock and empty bottles. Or... Or maybe they'd keep it. I don't suppose they'd throw it out or anything."

"So it could still be in there," Ralof finally concluded aloud.

The blacksmith frowned (he had a habit of doing that around his friend) and took in a deep breath. He studied the boy's face carefully. Though they were in the shadows of the Honningbrew Meadery, there was enough still enough light coming from the moons to see his features properly. Ralof simply looked right back at Hadvar, his expression obviously hopeful. He was waiting for permission.

"_You_ don't have to go in there," Ralof assured suddenly, reading the blacksmith's face. "I can go by myself. Sabjorn won't catch me. Even if he does, _I'll take him_."

They both grinned and stifled laughs. Hadvar noticed that Ralof often openly smiled at his own jokes. Maybe that was so people would _know_ he was joking.

"Are... Are you sure it's worth it?" asked Hadvar. Surely a stupid iron dagger wasn't worth whatever it would cost Ralof if he was caught in there.

Ralof smiled more. "It's worth it to you, so it's worth it to me." Hadvar's face heated. "If I don't make it out alive...," the other boy's voice dropped volume considerably and although Hadvar knew he was jokingly being dramatic, both of their expressions were deadly serious. Ralof was inching toward the blacksmith who was almost stunned with nerves; he didn't move, he didn't speak. He even stilled his lungs momentarily. Their lips were close enough that they were breathing each other's hot breath. Hadvar panted. He was so close that his eyes crossed when he looked down at those pink lips. "Make sure they bury me with my blade," Ralof finally whispered and crawled away a moment later.

Hadvar was left in shock as he watched Ralof pick the lock again. The last thing he saw was the boy's mischievous grin before blond hair and blue eyes disappeared into the dark meadery.


	10. A Boy Named Relief and a Boy Named Worry

It'd been the longest ten minutes in Hadvar's life. It was so long, in fact, that he was sure it'd been hours. In Hadvar's head, a million different outcomes were playing out.

Ralof had gone inside only to be greeted right away by the meadery owner. They were fighting, or they'd already fought and one of them was dead, or Ralof was waiting for the guards to come and take him away. Or Ralof had been looking around while the owner - Sabjorn, Hadvar remembered - slept up on the floor above. He woke him up accidentally and Sabjorn used the very dagger Hadvar had lost to defend himself against the blond intruder.

None of these made any sense. If there had been a confrontation, he was sure he would've heard noises inside, given how close he was to the building. Thus far it'd been entirely quiet - and Hadvar was straining his ears to pick up on even the smallest sounds.

One of these imagined possibilities was more realistic: Ralof had gone inside and gotten drunk. The mead called too strongly to him. And now he was unconscious on the floor, right behind the same barrels they'd used to hide that one night.

Whatever had happened, it was taking much too long. Hadvar's vision blurred, his heart raced, his breath was coming out in pants. He was like a scared dog. He wondered how his friend felt at the moment. Did he share that fear? Could his be even greater? It was a terrible thought. Ralof needed help, Hadvar decided. He was still sitting down on the ground and slowly he inched toward the door. Right as his hand reached forward to push at it, it began to open.

Hastily he jumped back. The heat from his body drained so suddenly that he felt literally _frozen_. Certainly there were ice crystals lining his hair as he sat there. He couldn't brace himself for his fate. Sabjorn, the owner of Honningbrew Meadery, was coming out to get Ralof's accomplice. He was going to grab him by the neck and present him to the guards like a fat goose for a feast.

His life was over. He'd spend time in the_ horrible_ jail and his uncle would never let him back in his house. He'd never be a blacksmith. He'd never be _anything_. He'd be a beggar, destined to walk the roads of Skyrim asking for septims.

But instead of seeing the terrifying figure that he imagined Sabjorn to be, he saw long blond hair. He let out a gasp, a breath of relief. He was so relieved, in fact, that he threw his arms around Ralof and hugged him. A second later, he was hugged back.

A muffled, loud crash - the sound of bottles breaking sharply on the floor - interrupted their connection. It'd come from inside the meadery, right behind the door, and it was barely a moment later that they were both darting back up the path to their village as fast as they could.

Hadvar's legs were faster than he'd ever known them could be. He breathed hard as he ran neck-and-neck with his friend. Their feet barely even touched the ground.

They didn't stop running until they got to the bridge, and when they finally tried to slow their movements, they ended up tripping over each other. Hadvar put his hands out to break his fall, feeling rough, dry dirt scraping his skin. Pain didn't matter now; he was safe. Exhausted, but safe. He rolled over on his back and they laid right before the bridge, Ralof sunk down on top of Hadvar, both panting and gasping for breath.

"What did... _you do_?" asked Hadvar between breaths.

Ralof raised his head to look at the boy before rolling off to lay beside him. "Nothing! I might... _might've_ knocked... something over... _a little_..."

"A little!_?_" Hadvar screeched before lowering his voice. They were back in their sleeping village, after all. "_A little?_" he whispered. "It probably... woke up... _the whole city!_"

He didn't hear anything for a moment, but when he did, he recognized it as Ralof's laugh. He looked over to watch as the boy's face turned even redder as he tried to suppress the strange joy. While it surprised him, Hadvar was soon in hysterics too, so much so that tears streamed down his face.

"Look... _Look_." Ralof finally calmed himself enough to breathe the words. Slowly he drew a blade from his belt. Hadvar looked at it in the bright, white moonlight. It wasn't steel, so it wasn't the one Hadvar had made for him. _It was iron_.

"You found it!" exclaimed Hadvar and he sat upright, taking the blade. "Where was it?"

"Near Sabjorn's bed," Ralof answered proudly. He sat up too. "I had to be _extra_ sneaky."

Hadvar wanted to hug him again. "Thank you," he said instead. Then he remembered their previous agreement. "What are you going to ask for?"

"Nothing, _yet_." Blue-eyes glanced up at the moons before looking back at Hadvar. "The night's still young. I don't suppose you'd be up for sneaking into Whiterun still?"

Hadvar shook his head and realized how dizzy he was from a wave of emotions. "I doubt we'll ever be able to get in at night."

"Well, then... Will you sit under the bridge with me again?"

* * *

Hadvar rubbed at his eye, willing away an oncoming, unwelcome headache. After he'd washed his scraped hands in the river, they crawled under the bridge. Again, the brunet and his friend had no shoes on so they could let the water flow over their feet. They hadn't talked much and only now began to settle in their familiar side-by-side positions with their heads touching the stone and the water shallow from the unusually high heat (and no rain) the past few months.

"Thank you again," whispered Hadvar. He kept his gaze on his wiggling toes.

"It wasn't hard. He's a heavy sleeper."

"Were you scared?"

"A little," Ralof answered after a short pause. "Were you?" From the corner of his eye, Hadvar saw the boy look at him.

He nodded immediately. "A little, too."

"Is that why you hugged me?"

For some reason, Hadvar turned his head to look at the boy. Nervously, he smiled, and Ralof did the same. It was dark underneath the bridge, but he could see the moon reflecting off the water. There was just enough light to see the white of his teeth, the blue of his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess." Hadvar shrugged and looked down at his feet again.

"Well, thanks for that."

He nodded and raked his mind for things that would change the subject. "You know," he said finally, "I honestly thought you'd gotten drunk and passed out on the floor."

Ralof blurted a laugh and rubbed at the flesh just below his eye. "No, of course not. I was on an important _quest_. Do you really think I drink that much?"

"Well, you haven't made it difficult to assume that."

"I only drink a lot _sometimes_, I suppose. As much as the average Nord, I'd think. I've been cutting back since you arrived."

Hadvar's brows met as he turned his head to look at his friend. "Since _I_ arrived? Why?"

Ralof was silent for a moment. Hadvar supposed he was thinking of an answer. "There aren't a lot of people in the village, and even less that I like being around," he started. Immediately Hadvar's cheeks heated from the slight compliment. _At least he liked being around him_. "So it gets pretty... _boring_. Every day's the same. Good mead can make things fun. But now that you're here... It's better."

He turned his head to hide his smile. "I'm glad... No one in Solitude thought I was fun."

"Really? Why not?"

He shrugged. "Well... I pestered the blacksmith a lot. It wasn't my fault, really... Smithing always drew me in. He wasn't as kind as Alvor, obviously. So I was kind of always known as _just_ the blacksmith's annoyance."

"You're only a_ little_ annoying," Ralof teased and grinned. "But I would've been your friend. I am now."

He smiled slightly. "It's worse, I think, because don't have any brothers or sisters. Honestly, I've never really had any friends. _At all_."

"Me neither," Ralof whispered and although Hadvar knew the village was small, he almost couldn't believe it. "You didn't belong there."

Hadvar gnawed at the inside of his lip as he thought about where he _did_ belong.

"It's not about a place," Ralof whispered, reading his expression, "it's about the people."

Maybe he hadn't been in Riverwood long enough to get a feel for whether or not he belonged. His aunt and uncle were certainly welcoming. But when he thought about 'home', he didn't think about Alvor or even his parents. It worried him when he realized what he _did_ think about. After all, they'd only known each other for...

"We met just a few days ago," Hadvar noted out loud.

"Mhm?"

"It feels like I've known you longer."

Ralof stared at him and it made Hadvar entirely shy. "I'm glad," he said. When Hadvar glanced at him, he saw his cheeks were red, too.

"Where do you think you belong?" the apprentice finally continued the subject.

The other boy shrugged. "I love my sister. I'd die for her. But... I can't see myself working the mill for much longer. She's a hard worker; she doesn't have a desire for adventure."

"Like you do."

"Yeah," Ralof nodded. "Do you? I mean... we _all_ have our curiosities. But... _deep down?_"

Hadvar stretched his legs before he spoke. "I haven't stopped thinking about it ever since I traveled with that merchant." He saw Ralof smile a little from the corner of his eye. "I've been thinking about what I'll do when I'm skilled enough to run a forge all on my own. I don't want to smith for just one village, like Uncle. I'd like to be... a _traveling sort_, I guess. Going from place to place, never settling down for long. Like you... I want to see Skyrim. Not just Solitude, not just Riverwood."

"Would you really go with me?" asked Ralof in a gravelly whisper. "Someday?"

Hadvar answered immediately. "I'd want to go with someone I trust."

"Could you trust me?"

"I _could_."

It was a _wonderful_ thought, adventuring with Ralof: they'd live off the land; Hadvar would trade weapons and armor for food and other things; some days they'd sleep in inns and other days they'd camp outside (safe from wolves, of course); they might even explore caves! Maybe they'd become heroes, but that didn't matter much to Hadvar.

Perhaps Ralof was dreaming up the same beautiful future. When the blacksmith looked at him, he was gazing off into a world Hadvar could not see. Soon he grinned and Hadvar did, too.

Suddenly he said, "Oh. I forgot to tell you. I told my uncle of the blade I made you and he wishes to see it."

* * *

"He won't take it from me?" a nervous Ralof asked as he shifted on his feet.

They'd stayed under the bridge for a while and talked. They said goodbye several minutes later and while Hadvar was tempted to hug Ralof again, he listened more to the screaming masculinity that told him it wasn't a 'manly' thing to do. Why he was listening to that now, after all these years, was a mystery to him, but you couldn't step one foot in any direction in Skyrim without hearing about nobility and honor - usually from the mouths of warriors. But certainly none of that mattered to Ralof; he seemed to openly welcome his affection. Why, he wondered as he slipped into bed, did it matter to _Hadvar_ now? Perhaps he was too caught up in the idea of abiding by the laws of 'heroes'.

Now Hadvar stood in the middle of the road that cut through their village. Ralof teetered on his feet in front of him, holding his blade carefully in his hands.

"Of course not. It's yours," Hadvar assured sweetly. Ralof looked like such a child and it made the blacksmith smile.

"What will you do if he does?"

Hadvar laughed. "_I'll wrestle him for it._ He's not going to take it away, Ralof."

"Alright," the blond nodded and took hesitant steps to the forge. Alvor had already begun the day's work without waiting for his apprentice, who'd run off to fetch the blond and his dagger - which Ralof held out to Hadvar's uncle like it was a precious infant.

"Ah, is this the blade?"

"Aye, it is," Ralof nodded.

Alvor took it in his hands (much to Ralof's discontent) and studied the thing. The two boys were both anxiously awaiting a response. A good minute passed.

"It's sturdy," Uncle finally admitted. "Not as sharp as something _I'd_ make, but that's probably for the best. Wouldn't want Ralof here pricking his fingers." The man teased the blond before handing over the dagger. Ralof's face lit up with relief. "That's good work, Hadvar."

He blushed brightly from the compliment. "Thank you."

"Remember, practice makes perfect."

"I know," he nodded and glanced at Ralof before taking his rightful place at the grindstone.

"See you later, Ralof," Alvor called after the boy when he began to retreat.

Hadvar looked up to watch the blond wave. They smiled at each other.


	11. Forge Head and the Smith Who Has It

Hadvar slowly awoke from a light sleep. Every muscle in his body craved more of the natural unconsciousness. He wouldn't give in. He had work to do today.

Opening his eyes in a series of blinks, he saw a dim candlelight in the corner of the room, and a figure standing close to it. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing immediately when his headache hit him.

"Hadvar?" Sigrid spoke softly. Her voice always had a gentle melody to it and it reminded him of his mother.

He blinked more before rubbing at his sleepy eyes. He stood up, dressed in his day clothes like most people did so there would be no problem changing in the morning. Hadvar walked over to sit in the chair at the small table, dragging his feet the whole way. He finally noticed Sigrid was working her fingers to the bone as she wove fabric on the loom.

The underground room of Alvor's house was bleak and gray. The room above was much more decorated - there was a large bed his aunt and uncle shared, chests of fur and armor, food lining the table and usually a burning fire. On especially cold nights it was stoked to keep the house warm.

The cold from the ground, however, seeped through the walls where Hadvar slept. Often he was given one or two extra coverings. His uncle had used the room as storage for his forge's inventory until Hadvar came along. It was still stocked up with armor and weapons, but as people bought up the stock, it slowly dwindled. The only other thing down there, aside from Hadvar's bed, was a wooden shelf in the middle of the room and a table in the corner - where he and his aunt currently sat.

His aunt's loom changed location depending on where she wanted it to be. When she knew she'd awake before her husband, she'd make sure her station was downstairs so she wouldn't wake him with her work. He was always cranky when he didn't get enough sleep. Hadvar was just careless.

"Did you hear me, Hadvar?"

"Hm? Oh- No, sorry."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I asked if you were feeling alright."

It'd been a week since he and Ralof had any type of extended interaction. They'd passed each other on the road only a few times and they'd smile. Honestly, Hadvar missed his friend. Alvor had been working him hard and he hadn't even had enough time to wash off all the coal and ash in the river. The longer he breathed in the blackish forge smoke, the more his head hurt. Every morning started out terrible because of it.

"Just a headache."

"You've been having headaches a lot lately," she noted, still looking him although her fingers continued to work delicately on the cloth.

He shrugged. "I guess I've been working too... too... uh-," - _what was he trying to say? oh, yes_ - "_hard_."

Sigrid finally stopped her weaving. "And confusion, too, I see. Not to mention that cough I've been hearing." She came closer and took her nephew's face in her hands.

She was beautiful. Hadvar had grown up in Solitude but his parents had visited Riverwood several times. He was mostly too young to remember, but he could recall always liking Sigrid. He especially liked how quick Alvor was to listen to her. It made him a little less intimidating. Both she and Alvor were rather young, though Hadvar couldn't help but wonder when they'd have children. Having a cousin or two would be almost as good as having a brother or sister. Given, he'd be much older by the time they could 'play' together, but he found children delightful nonetheless.

"_Hadvar_," she said in a tone that made it obvious she was repeating herself.

He snapped out of his daze. "Sorry, Aunt Sigrid."

"Have you been sick?"

He blinked at her. "Sick? I've... I don't know... I've been... _tired_. And sometimes it feels like I've been spinning in circles for hours."

"You're not working the forge today," she said sternly.

Hadvar almost couldn't believe his ears.

"But... but, I _have_ to. Uncle needs me."

"He can go without your help for a few days. You did enough work yesterday _alone_ for two or three days entirely. You've been breathing in too much smoke. I _told_ him he was working you too much this whole week."

"Why did he?"

"He's been preparing for his trade trip to Whiterun, remember? He told you about that, Hadvar. ..._Hadvar_?"

"Hm? Sorry... Told me what?"

She sighed. "Go lay back down, boy."

* * *

"Hadvar," Sigrid said in a sing-song voice, rubbing at her nephew's arm. "_Haaadvar_."

He slowly opened his eyes from his daze. He'd fallen asleep, apparently, after his aunt had led him back to his bed. And he was feeling no better than before.

"Sit up," she commanded softly. It was a struggle, but he did what he was told. "Drink this."

"What is it?"

"A brew to help you feel better."

"What's in it?" he asked, remembering how terrible Gerdur's had tasted.

"Do what I tell you and _drink it_," Sigrid ordered, but even her sternest voice was pleasant to hear.

He took the cup she offered and didn't even smell it before swallowing the mixture. He was desperately thirsty. It wasn't until he gave the empty cup back that he began to taste it. It was like he'd fallen face-down in a wet meadow and had gotten a mouthful of sweet grass and mud.

"What was in that?" he asked after clearing his sore throat.

"Oh, just some flowers." She stood up from her position on the edge of Hadvar's bed. As she walked back up the stairs, she spoke with a humorous tone. "And some Mudcrab Chitin."

Now he knew why she wouldn't tell him before.

* * *

When Hadvar finally stumbled outside, he realized it was midday. The sun was bright on his eyes and hot on his skin as he stepped into the middle of the road. The village was, as always, busy this time of day: people wandered in and out of the trader and the inn, wood was being hauled every which way, his uncle was sharpening weapons at the forge (that Sigrid had forbid him to be around). The sound of the grindstone upset him deeply. He strode off toward the mill. It felt strange to be going somewhere other than to make weapons.

As small as Riverwood was, it certainly didn't seem that way when everyone was out and about. The smallest family was Gerdur and Ralof, the second smallest was a tie between Sven, Hilde, and Sven's sick father (who everyone rarely saw) and Alvor, Sigrid, and Hadvar. Everyone else had four or more people in their home. The trader, a bad-tempered Breton who Hadvar was rather afraid of, even had a brother and her brother's two children. She talked a lot about hating Riverwood and very obviously wanted to leave. Sometimes Hadvar popped his head into the building just to see if she'd sold it off yet.

It felt good to be outside. After sleeping so long in a dark room and working so hard around forge smoke, fresh air was welcome. It was so nice, in fact, that the inn's door was wide open to invite in the lovely weather.

Suddenly arms were flung around his torso so tightly he couldn't move his arms.

"Hadvar," Ralof greeted, cheek pressing to the apprentice's shoulder blade as he continued to hug him from behind. "I'm glad you're okay."

Hadvar was glad they weren't facing each other because his face was as red as the apple a passing man was eating. He nervously patted Ralof's hands and was relieved when the boy finally pulled himself away. "How did you know I'm sick?"

"Sigrid sent me off to find ingredients for you. _Blue Mountain Flower, Yellow Mountain Flower, Mudcrab Chitin_," he repeated the list. "She said it was for a bad case of '_forge head_'. How did it taste?"

"Okay," he admitted, "until she told me Mudcrab was in it."

Ralof smiled boyishly. After a moment Hadvar smiled too. He wished he could control that.

"Do you need help around the mill?" asked the young blacksmith. He noticed Ralof had dropped the wood he'd been carrying so he could hug him.

"I wouldn't mind company," Ralof answered as he picked up the logs. Hadvar began to help. "Have you ever chopped wood?"

Hadvar had tried once. Beirand, Solitude's blacksmith, had finally given him the chore after the boy begged and begged to help around the forge. Although it didn't have much to do with smithing, Hadvar was delighted. No one else had any use for him in the big city. Recalling the memory, he remembered how he could barely pick up the axe, let alone split wood. He was older now, and stronger too. Surely it wouldn't be as much of a problem.

"No," he answered truthfully. After all, he never _did_ split that wood.

* * *

It'd taken him a while to get the hang of it (and lots of embarrassment as Ralof watched, smiling) but soon he was gliding the blade right through the segments of log with ease. He'd been doing it for at least half an hour (probably more) and his arm muscles ached in such a rewarding way. People would come and lighten the steady pile of chopped wood and Hadvar would just keep at it, barely paying any mind to them.

It was almost like he hadn't truly been _outside_ in weeks. Not only that, but with every log split, it was like he was showing the people of Solitude that he really _was_ useful.

"You're good at that, blacksmith," came Ralof's gravelly voice behind him. "Or at least you _look good_ doing it."

Finally Hadvar stopped chopping and glanced back to see Ralof's mischievous smile. It, of course, made his cheeks heat up, but thankfully they were already too red from warmth for anyone to notice. His skin was damp with sweat, his hair was wet on his forehead, and his tunic hugged his body. He felt _stronger_ for some reason. He now knew why Ralof had so much muscle.

"It's fun," he panted.

"Not if you're doing it every day," Ralof countered. "You can stop now. Everyone's already gotten their wood."

He put the axe back on the table near him and sat down on the ground beside Ralof, their backs against the stone of the lumber mill. Someone was working it - long, split logs that rather resembled whole trees to Hadvar fell into the pile at the end - and it was somewhat dangerous to sit there, but neither seemed to mind. Wood dust rained lightly on them. It stuck to Hadvar's sweaty skin and tickled.

"I could sharpen your axes for you. They're getting a little dull. They'd chop much better. Or I could make you new ones entirely..." Hadvar trailed off.

Ralof grinned. "You're _such_ a smith," he interrupted.

Hadvar blushed, embarrassed at his ramblings.

He must've read his expression because the rabbit-chaser leaned closer and softly said: "But I like it."

"Thanks," he replied immediately, whispering for some reason.

"Will you help tomorrow, too? Sigrid said you can't go back to the forge for at least a week."

Hadvar puffed out his cheeks. _A week was far too long_. He wondered if he'd truly be able to stay away. "Friends, are you?" he teased after a moment.

"No. She just told me to keep an eye on you all this week, since I'm your only friend." Ralof was grinning. Hadvar didn't need to look at him; he could hear it in his voice. Instead, Hadvar stared straight ahead, tracing the mountains and trees of Skyrim with his eyes.

"What'll you do if I try to smith?" He couldn't stop his smirk. Ralof's teasing and mischievousness was rubbing off on him, apparently - or maybe he'd always been this way and never had any friends to realize it.

"Tackle you and drag you away. _Like a draugr_."

Hadvar nearly stopped breathing.

"So you better not go near that forge," Ralof continued.

He nodded. "I won't. Trust me, I won't."


End file.
